


the tedious details of sam wilson's secondary mission

by yolkpoet



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 17:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17228171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolkpoet/pseuds/yolkpoet
Summary: He’s going to get Captain America a boyfriend.





	the tedious details of sam wilson's secondary mission

  
  
Sam Wilson would love to revisit the unfortunate decisions he’s made in life that have led to this moment - him having a front row seat to Captain America and the Winter Soldier’s sordid, unfulfilled romance. Quite literally, he’s been sequestered to the back seat of the inconspicuous SUV Steve got them and he’s got nothing to look at except Steve and Barnes very pointedly not looking at each other.  
  
The friendly shoulder pats are as frequent as ever but become increasingly filled with some sort of tension. Hands retract quicker and eyes fall to laps and throats are cleared. It’s all very dramatic. And, Sam has literally nothing else to look at.  
  
They’ve been trying to hit any HYDRA bases they know about to find the other soldiers and they’ve been incredibly unsuccessful in their quest so far. Barnes keeps making self-deprecating jokes to lighten the mood but all they do is give Steve a semi-permanent frown - big eyes staring at an unsuspecting Barnes as if mentally willing him to stop hating himself. In turn, Barnes sneaks little peaks and either gets immediately sad or turns away with a private smile. Sam is disturbed by both.  
  
The worst is when one of them does one of those ‘ _hey, remember when_ ’ things that momentarily lifts the tension only for it to settle heavily because they act like they’re going to die if they don’t punctuate stories with shoulder touches.  
  
Fucking idiots.  
  
Unfortunately, Sam cares about them ( _ew_ ) and as HYDRA bases come up empty one after another ( _yikes_ ), Sam develops a secondary mission.  
  
He’s going to get Captain America a boyfriend.

  
  
They’ve been on the road for a week before Steve makes the call to pull over, as if only just now remembering Sam isn’t a godly, serum-injected superhuman like the rest of them. They pull into a fairly nice hotel because if they’re going to be criminals, they’re gonna do it in moderate style. Also, maybe, Sam threw a tantrum about resting and this was the closest thing the GPS pointed them too.  
  
If he’d known what a hotel would entail, he’d have happily slept uncomfortably in that SUV for the indefinite future.  
  
Steve goes straight for the front desk, hat pulled low, and Barnes hovers behind him. He’s fidgeting, anxiously glancing around the hotel lobby even though it’s 2 a.m. and it’s relatively empty. Sam is slightly surprised by the vulnerability. He knows the Winter Soldier’s training involved assimilation and deadly charm and always looking like you belong exactly where you are. Maybe Barnes was used more for discrete assassinations than he was for glamorous espionage but the training must have remained. There’s something about the fluid way Barnes wakes up after the rare moments he lets himself sleep. The way he puts on James Buchanan Barnes at full force for Steve, remains the paranoid Winter Soldier for Sam, becomes the helpless civilian around public.  
  
It’s all calculated.  
  
It’s strange that being in a hotel has changed all of that.  
  
Steve makes some joke that has the receptionist flushed and laughing, and he glances over his shoulder with a point at Barnes - smile falling ever so slightly when Barnes is unable to support his attempt at normalcy. He’s quick to turn back to the receptionist, distracting her further as he tries to book three single rooms.  
  
The exact moment Sam regrets his temper tantrum is this; the receptionist shaking her head and saying, “We only have an en suite available, sir. I apologize. We can add an extra bed.”  
  
Barnes seems to seize up as if he hasn’t shared closer quarters, a goddamn SUV, with the three of them for the past week. Sam is slightly offended. Also, a little concerned. Steve is accepting the room in stride, pulling out his card (thank god for Natasha Romanoff) and signing whatever forms she extends to him.  
  
Barnes’ metal arm is covered in a thick sweatshirt and gloves, but Sam can hear it regardless - a faint clicking and buzzing as it tenses like the rest of him. He seems like a sudden flight risk and Sam instinctively blocks the path to the exit. A futile move, as Barnes is following Steve like a duckling while maintaining intense eye-contact with the floor.  
  
The ever-present tension is building to alarming rates and Sam, for all his comedic prowess, can’t seem to think of anything to lighten the mood. They’re eventually led to and then left in the fairly large ensuite and the door clicks shut after the hotel worker - ominously soft. Sam takes in the room; the large bed, the extra bed they’ve added that’s only big for one grown man, Steve’s unwavering gaze that isn’t returned by Barnes. Since they’ve decided to keep up their little soap opera antics, Sam feels no type of way about dumping his duffle bag right on the spare bed.  
  
“Dibs,” he says, settling down and sighing contentedly, “Since I really don’t want one of y’all kicking me out the window in your sleep.”  
  
In order to avoid the 40’s silent movie tragedy that’s to follow, Sam further comments, “Dibs on the first shower, too.”  
  
He takes his time in the shower. It’s been a week of breaking into random places to clean up, to shave, to shit. So, he makes himself at home. Uses all the fancy soaps and lotions the hotel provides. He’s feeling warm and pleased when he steps out of the shower, in a full flannel night suit he hopes the guys are too lame to make fun of. As it is, they seem too busy looking busy to even look up.  
  
Barnes is at the desk, clicking away at his laptop. Steve is perched in faux nonchalance on the bed, ankles crossed with an iPad on his lap. It isn’t exactly a 40’s silent movie tragedy anymore but Sam’s sure they did their fair share of pining looks before he came out.  
  
“Who’s next?” he says, dumping his clothes and towel next to the spare bed.  
  
“I’ll go next,” Barnes blurts out then looks immediately contrite, “If that’s okay.”  
  
Steve’s eyes go all soft and gooey and his voice is unnecessary gentle as he says, “Of course that’s okay, Buck.”  
  
Sam sort of wants to throw up. With a grunt, he settles into bed and turns his back to the idiots he’s saddled to. He’s out before Barnes turns the shower on.  
  
  
  
For the first time in a long time, Sam sleeps in and his body feels like mush when he wakes up - warm, filtered sunlight washing over him and the smell of coffee filling the room. It takes him a second to orient himself and he does a quick sweep of his surroundings - notices the bed is empty and the sheets are folded neatly. Someone’s arranged all their luggage in a corner and there’s a covered plate at the coffee table. Sam stretches, groaning softly at how good it feels, and then gets up.  
  
Assuming the plate has food in it, he makes to move towards it but is distracted by movement to his side. Steve and Barnes are on the balcony and the thin curtain over the glass doors does nothing to obscure them. The glass doors also do not muffle their voices.  
  
“Not really,” Barnes is saying, facing away from Steve and giving Steve his curved neck and tense spine to look at - in characteristic _Steve & Bucky_ fashion.  
  
“Buck,” Steve starts, nearly whispering, “It wasn’t you. You might as well have been a mask. They took away your agency so it wasn’t you. They wiped everything in you that made you _you_.”  
  
Sam almost snorts. It seems Steve actually read the pamphlets they’d picked up months ago, before they even found Barnes. Steve had talked to some SHIELD psychiatrists and spent countless nights understanding what it meant to be brainwashed, to be used and abused and then vilified. Because if Steve couldn’t rip the pain out of Barnes, he was gonna do his best to understand it.  
  
“You don’t get it,” Barnes says softly, “I remember. I was there. It was like my body was moving on its own but I felt all the necks I cracked, Steve. I _felt_ them. You can’t say it wasn’t me when I was fully conscious for all of it.”  
  
There’s a long pause and Sam knows Steve is breaking himself apart thinking about that day when he let Barnes slip out of his hand. When they’d been looking for Barnes, Steve had confided he felt it was all his fault. He felt if he’d just moved faster, been smarter, or done something, he’d have caught Barnes and HYDRA would never have been able to poison him. Seeing Barnes shattered over it must only worsen that guilt in Steve. Sam almost wants to yell, _this isn’t about you_ , but that would greatly jeopardize all the eavesdropping.  
  
“I feel like it’s all in me still,” Barnes says, barely audible now, “Like I can’t take it out of me without dying. I feel filthy, like the blood is still on my hands. I can’t even look.”  
  
Sam’s heart does a little _thud_ at that - the absolute desolation in Barnes’ voice, how certain he sounds about his fate, how absolutely unfair it is that he’ll perhaps always feel like this.  
  
“Oh, Buck,” Steve breathes out, sounding choked up. He makes a motion forward as if to touch Barnes but retracts. Silence falls heavily and there seems to be a growing distance between them - stretching comically without them moving at all. Steve must feel it too, because he moves forward again, this time with surety and with purpose.  
  
Sam is expecting a shoulder touch again, and he and Barnes are both surprised when Steve grabs Barnes’ real arm and yanks him around and crushes him against his chest. His large frame is folded and molded to Barnes so he can tuck his nose right into Barnes’ neck, grip him with aching desperation.  
  
Suddenly feeling a tightness in his throat, Sam moves away from the doors and heads to the bathroom. He washes his face ten times, brushes his teeth, takes shower, and chugs down a cup of coffee, but can’t seem to get rid of that tightness.  
  
  
  
Decidedly over the dramatic tragedy unfolding before him, Sam focuses on his secondary mission with renewed vigor. Whatever happened after the hug, it hasn’t eased the tension at all. In fact, it seems to have made it worse. Barnes is now actively avoiding direct contact with Steve and talks about missions as if presenting to a room full of people and makes suggestions through Sam. Steve has in turn amped up his puppy eyes to absurd levels and can’t seem to do anything except watch Barnes blatantly and shamelessly.  
  
Sam can’t fathom how the idiots messed up a _hug_ this badly but he doesn’t put it past them. They must have found some way. _Of course_ , they did.  
  
They’re in the hotel lobby checking out and Barnes has decided to move all their luggage in an obvious attempt at distance, Sam has a rare moment alone with Steve and once everything is sorted and they’re just waiting for Barnes to pull the SUV around, he turns to his friend with purpose.  
  
“So,” he says, “Quite a hug y’all shared earlier.”  
  
Steve immediately sports a stupid blush that Sam refrains from rolling his eyes at.  
  
“Oh… uh, yeah,” he supplies.  
  
“You do remember how to make a move, right? I mean, I know 40’s were a different time but romance must still be the same. And if anyone would appreciate your bumbling attempts, it’d be Barnes.”  
  
Steve has the audacity to look confused.  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“You love him, right?” he asks, fanning his arms out.  
  
“Of course,” Steve says, nearly yelling and sporting a frown as if personally insulted it could even be a question.  
  
“You _love_ him, right?”  
  
“I just said-“ Steve starts and then clams up, looking down and away, “I do.”  
  
“Then, kiss the guy. Give him something else to think about apart from his fucking _tragic_ past.”  
  
Steve sighs in a way that Sam knows to mean an old man nostalgia wave is about to hit him and Sam will have secondhand depression for a week. He does this all the time, talks about his past and his life and his journey as if he’s reading it off of a museum pamphlet. As if he has no particular emotions attached to the trauma he’s withstood or how he’s outlived people he’s loved or how he’s always slightly suicidal in missions. As if everything he currently holds dear, he hasn’t stubbornly held on to. As if he didn’t pull Barnes’ helicopter right out of the fucking sky. Talk about abandonment issues.  
  
“You don’t understand,” Steve begins solemnly and Sam resists the urge to stab him (it’ll heal quick but the wince of pain will be incredibly satisfying), “It’s not that simple with Bucky. He’s always been so much bolder than me. So much better at everything, you know.”  
  
“Doubt it,” Sam says off-handedly because his loyalties lie with the Captain even if he’s a giant moping puppy, “That’s the thing, Steve. Maybe it is simple but you two aren’t used to that and are creating complications yourselves.”  
  
Steve has the nerve to huff softly and say, “Yeah, maybe.”  
  
Sam Wilson will go to his grave being proud of himself for not killing Captain America in a hotel lobby.  
  



End file.
